Average Days are the Most Eventful
by timelucked
Summary: Average day on the TARDIS, no more no less. But everything was always just a bit too much around the Doctor.   Quick fic on Amy/Rory and more than implied Doctor/River.


"Oi, stupid face," Rory turned as he heard his wife addressing him. It didn't matter the term was fairly - to be honest - derogative, it meant everything to hear her say it. "You just gonna go rescue a whole planet and not even kiss me goodbye?"

Amy stared down at him, decked out in a rather marvelous suit of all black - kevlar from the looks of the dented vest - hands at hips at the top of the TARDIS stairs.

"Oh, uh," Rory articulated unintelligently. He swallowed. "You were asleep."

His words came out little more than a question. It was a weak argument, he knew, but it was the only one he had.

Amy scoffed, stalking down a step. The TARDIS clinked with her bare feet as she slowly made her way to him. Her arms wrapped snugly, securely, around his neck as she looked deep into his eyes, so deep she could see herself reflected back as if she had always been there, in the gray pools his eyes cast.

"Doesn't matter," her t's held guttural hitches, still never having relinquished her Scottish twang despite the years in Leadworth. "Still should have kissed me."

"Oh," Rory said, distracted by the way her lips worked, glossy and moving, but not really quite catching what she said.

"Rory."

"Uh, yeah?"

She rolled her eyes and leant forward, pressing her lips against his softly.

_Oh._

Rory's hands made their way around her, snaking to strongly fit her in the warm circle his arms provided for her always. He kept her there, just long enough, then released. The two simply looked at each other, no smiles, no soft farewells, just the stare that meant more than anything.

Bumping her nose with his, she said, "Give 'em hell, tiger."

"Time to use the big guns."

Amy smiled, patting and squeezing his flexed bicep.

"And remember, you've got the biggest."

"I know," he said smugly, even if they both knew it wasn't true. Still, as the psychology books always said, it was really about how you worked the tool, not the size of it. Strictly speaking of guns, of course.

_Boys and their toys_, Amy thought as she climbed her way back up to her room, sentimental smile in tow like a child on her hand.

Speaking of children, Amy passed the room that was distinctly set for her daughter – little reams of three lining the door in a crude design meant to pass as carved-in rivers. Clearly the Doctor's ramshackle handiwork, he was so awful at using tools that weren't his sonic screwdriver, especially on wood -_ "Rubbish wood!"_ as he would proclaim.

"Hey, River," she called. "Your father is about to go shoot something, you're free to join."

There was a wild rustling and an even wilder mane of curls poked through the crack she had made in the door. A great, big grin stretched across her face as she quickly found her mother standing a little ways from the door, brow arched at her suspicious actions.

"Just a second!" she replied happily, slamming the door and making a curious ruckus within her room.

When the door opened again, she had hastily slipped into a tight, white denim jacket, even tighter, molded, beige leggings, a utility belt, and had her gun in hand as well as another laser in a holster strapped to her thigh. She winked and with a toss of her ringletted hair, ran after her father, hoping to bond over broken bodies and victory dances.

The sight that greeted Amy next had her blinking rapidly at the shock of it.

"No, River, wait, wait, you can't just _leave_, we were just about to – oh!"

The Doctor stumbled out of the room, tripping on the white sheet he held loosely around himself, draped like a careless summer shawl over his otherwise naked body. His pale skin gleamed with a soft shine and his disheveled mess of hair was mussed in all direction, someone's hands having racked through it, and she was sure it hadn't been his own. He looked oily and Amy had no doubts he was, knowing River, it seemed like a sort of thing she'd do.

Amy shook her head sagely, ridding herself of those thoughts before the images could come with it.

"_Amelia_!" the Doctor chorused, waddling over to her as if he weren't in the middle of some conjugal visit most likely insisted upon by River – as if his barely-coveredness was a normal thing for a best friend and mother-in-law to see. "_Hel-lo_!"

"Uh, hi…Doctor."

He regarded her with that same grin he always did and it was all a bit too daunting and odd for her to handle, which unfortunately said a lot. She patted his shoulder awkwardly, feet standing in place as she bent at the waist uncomfortably to do it.

"Enjoy yourself, Doctor," she insisted with a slight cringe as she strode away, thoughts straying to anything that didn't involve her best friend and grown-up daughter performing similar tasks to what she and Rory had the previous night.

She didn't care to find out if he had taken her up on her word, only later finding out that once Rory and River came back with hunting trophies – a dalek eyestalk the Doctor was shudderingly glad he missed out on, three spacerabbits (nasty little bite-y things that popped up out of craters when one wasn't careful, according to him), and the arm of a cyberman – having enjoyed their selves, she had imparted her own present for the ever-patient galactic practitioner.

Information Amy did not need to know, but was told nevertheless. She kept the information from Rory, though, kindly – only putting up with it herself because it's what mothers did and what old best friends did too. Rory was in neither category and did not partake in the Late Night Gossip Sleepovers the two held every Friday, or whatever passed as Friday on the TARDIS. No, he and the Doctor did more manly things; which generally meant watching as the Doctor bounced from wall to wall after seventy-three jammy dodgers with a dainty tea cup in hand. Only the most manly for her two boys.

Despite the fore – and after – knowledge of her own daughter's risqué sexual exploits with the man Amy had met when she was seven, the TARDIS was the greatest place on…on anywhere. She had her husband – the most loving and gentle, yet fiercest man alive. She had her daughter – a wild rebel who liked to shoot things and open locked doors in hopes of finding something so ludicrously dangerous it became all too insensible. And she had her best friend – the raggedy man who made everything, all this, possible.

And with all that had happened – all the good and the bad and the weakening and depressing and strengthening and curing, all the _life_ in, on, around the TARDIS – she would never change a thing.

**A/N: this all started due to a screenshot I took and posted to my tumblr. From that picture came the first three hundred words and then it spiraled into this. Woo. So yeah, leave a review, post a comment, SHOW ME YOUR LOVE – GIVE ME YOUR HATE – I WILL TAKE IT. But really, I love your input more than anything. **

**The ending to this sucks, I didn't put much time in it, obviously, though I do enjoy the second to last paragraph. Not the last line though, I am horrid at those.**


End file.
